


Structures, Limitations, Mergers, and Acquisitions

by Shrewreadings



Series: Badger-Verse [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Legal dramedy, Trade Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrewreadings/pseuds/Shrewreadings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes a time in every superheroes' organization where the acquisition of minions ceases being optional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Digging Foundations

**6:30 AM, LaGuardia Airport, New York**

"You're on time." Clint didn't bother to hide his surprise.

"Third scariest woman on the planet, Clint. You really think I'm going to risk being late for her plane?" Caroline didn't look up from the file on her laptop she was working on.

"Well, you were late for Dep. Dir. Hill…"

"Yes, but she can only deploy SHIELD and nuclear weapons. Ms. Potts can actually crash the global economy, and unlike nukes, I'd survive to deal with the apocalyptic aftermath."

"I actually try to avoid setting off apocalypses before 9 AM." Pepper said, coming into the private jet lounge at LaGuardia’s Marine Terminal. "Ben Maisani says Anderson Cooper's much more pleasant to live with when he's had coffee before covering the end of the world."

Clint caught Caroline's chair as she startled out of her seat. "Ms. Potts."

Pepper took in the standing attorney, lips sliding halfway into a smile. "Usually you only rise from your seat when a head of state comes into a room." She glided past Caroline in a bespoke navy suit with pencil skirt and three-inch stiletto spectator pumps, clearly inspecting the younger woman's Dietrich-inspired three-piece black pants suit, complete with burgundy grenadine silk necktie.

"I'm pretty sure that's what just happened, ma'am: I saw SI's quarterlies yesterday."

Pepper's eyes narrowed. "Did you just _ma'am_ me?"

Caroline thought back over the exchange, and answered tentatively, "I appear to have done so, ma'am?"

"And you just did it again." Pepper's lips twitched a little, trying to not laugh.

Hopefully, Caroline asked, "Does Stark Industries permit their associates to take the Fifth?"

"They do." Bruce answered, coming in, followed by Agents Hunt and Piñeda. "I just read it in the HR manual."

Pepper turned to look at Bruce. "You actually _read_ the HR manual?"

"Well, I saw what happened when Caroline didn't." He answered cheerfully, getting himself coffee. "Coffee?"

"Please." Pepper answered. "Caroline, didn't I ask you to call me Pepper?"

"I am actually not certain." Caroline answered. "A good portion of that day is a blur of fabric samples and mortified humiliation.  Is it possible I heard Steve Rogers tell someone to 'use their editing eye?'"

"You did." Pepper said, sitting down with the coffee Bruce handed her. "He was sitting with Phil during a _Project Runway_ marathon last summer. It made a deep impression." She set the coffee on an occasional table next to the armchair and pulled her tablet out of her own brief-tote.

Caroline had watched Pepper's maneuver carefully, and asked, "How do you do that?" she her chair back from Clint and re-took her seat at the conference table.

Pepper sipped the coffee and asked, "do what?"

"Manage three inch heels, briefcase, coffee, and a low, deep armchair."

"Trade secrets," Clint offered. "I've asked Natasha the same thing. She gives me a different answer each time."

"I'm sorry," Pepper said to Clint. "We could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you."

"That's okay," Clint answered. "I've got a macro set up to fill in the form for 'returning to work from un-authorized death.'"

 

The one hour flight from New York to Virginia was uneventful, if a bit bumpy: November on the eastern seaboard just about guaranteed that somewhere a storm was likely brewing. Bruce took over the aft couch, folded into Lotus and zoned out with his noise-cancelling headphones, StarkPlayer and Glenn Gould. Across the aisle from him, at the four-seat table, Clint gave Agents Hunt and Piñeda the lowdown on what to expect at Culver and from Darcy in between hands of poker.

Pepper and Caroline parked themselves in the forward part of the cabin across the aisle at the single-seats with desks. They focused on the work they'd brought with them:  Pepper, the reports from HR's college recruiting trips, Caroline, an actual paper brief that she was going through with a blue pencil.

Pepper looked up when Caroline actually giggled. The CEO cleared her throat a little, and Caroline looked up.

"Sorry."

"It's all right. What are you working on?"

"Research," Caroline said, "Confirming a hypothesis, actually."

"Oh?" Pepper leaned back a little, and Caroline turned her seat sideways to show her the pages.

"Here," she said, tapping the first document with her pencil, "is a paper written by Ms. Lewis during the spring semester of 2010: a literature review, covering the Supreme Court's history on the subject of the fourth amendment."

"Fourth…?"

"Search, seizure and warrants." Caroline passed it over to Pepper.

"Got it."

"It's a quite good paper, especially for a first semester sophomore." Caroline said, rolling the pencil back and forth between her fingers.

"Read a lot of them, do you?" Pepper asked, looking at the text. The language was concise, eloquent and distinctive, smoothly conveying both the important parts and shortfalls of the case described. The other paragraphs on the same page had a similar tone.

"Oh, yes. One of the things keeping me from finishing the blasted dissertation is the knowledge I'd go back to reading grubby little undergraduates' lousy writing after the elegant prose of Robbie Burr, Phil Coulson and Steve Rogers. When I was teaching those horrors European history from the French Revolution to the fall of the Soviet Union, I got to see a _lot_ of lousy writing. This is not lousy. It lacks grammatical errors, homonym errors, and is precise in its word choices. It's also quite comprehensive, going up as recently as a case called _Groh v. Ramirez_ , which was decided in 2004."

"Okay. What's that got to do with the fourth amendment? Or SHIELD, or Darcy Lewis?" Pepper flipped to the front of the paper and started reading it from the beginning.

" _Groh_ dealt with a warrant that was what I would charitably call 'vague,' and more accurately call 'illegal.' It didn't say what the searchers were looking for, where were looking for it, or whom they were looking for, and the Supreme Court said that Ramirez _could_ sue Groh for civil damages. Take a look at this paragraph." She reached over the aisle to point out a page of the paper to Pepper. "The one in the box with all the arrows and underlining."

Pepper looked.

"Now look at this paragraph." Caroline passed her a heavy-weight paper document with a tan cover, "with the pencil marks on the post-it, since Leonie's firm's librarian scares the hell out of me."

Pepper looked at the paragraphs. They were identical.  She looked up. "Ms. Lewis _plagiarized_?"

"No way," Clint said, sharp and definite, from behind Pepper's seat. "I heard her ranting about that, in close harmony with Drs. Selvig and Foster about 'people too stupid to continue to breathe.'" He held a hand out, and Pepper passed the paper Darcy wrote to him.

"There's only one way Ms. Lewis could have plagiarized, and that would be if she had access to a time machine," Caroline said. "Which, if I understand Thor correctly, might not be entirely out of the realm of possibility for the Bifrost, but is unlikely in these circumstances. The research paper pre-dates the tan document by two years. This," She tapped the tan document, "is the supplemental reply brief for petitioner Dr. Jane Foster, individually, and on behalf of her associate, Darcy Lewis."

Clint handed the paper back to Caroline and took the brief from Pepper. "So what you're saying…?"

"Is that Darcy Lewis wrote the petition, briefs and arguments in _Foster v. United States_." 

"Why isn't her name on it as author, then?" Pepper asked.

"The Court's rules say only the lawyer's name can go on briefs and petitions." Caroline answered. "No researchers, interns, students or anyone else who wrote or contributed to the work. I'm pretty sure Ms. Lewis wrote and filed the initial case herself in federal district court. The timing of the argument lands _right_ when she'd have gotten back from the 2010 stint in New Mexico. They won, and then Homeland Security appealed. Appellate courts tend to be less tolerant of _pro se_ appearances and arguments, so Ms. Lewis left it in the hands of the advising counsel, a Mr. …" She looked at the name on the Supreme Court brief. "Marc Jenson.  Homeland Security won the appeal in May of last year, and she was back in New Mexico for the summer?" She looked over to Clint.

Clint nodded. "Spent most of the time buried under so much paper that I thought she might be trying to rival Coulson for 'most pronounced writer's callus,' and definitely pushing Sitwell into a firm third place." He gathered up the cards from their last poker hand and tucked them away in the bulkhead pouch as they descended towards Culver airport.

"So a twenty year old kid from Virginia…" Pepper slowly said, looking over the _curriculum vita_ they had on Darcy.

"Who doesn't even have her bachelor's wrote, argued and won a Supreme Court case." Caroline concluded. "And I call dibs."

"You can't have dibs." Pepper objected.

"I can totally have dibs," Caroline said, "I'm authorized to offer to pay her to go to her choice of law and/or graduate school, in exchange for two additional years after degree completion for a maximum total of five years. No harm, no foul if she withdraws or leaves the program, and allowed to take outside consulting work." She touched her tablet to Pepper's and the terms showed up. "SI won't allow outside consulting."

"We can and have made exceptions to that policy in the past," Pepper countered. "For example, Bruce is still consulting to SHIELD and Doctors without Borders."  She looked over SHIELD's offer paperwork.

"But SI has a firm policy of not offering tuition for graduate work in the first two years." Caroline replied. "And I suspect that you _haven't_ made exceptions for that: it's too messy for your IP issues."

"Point." Pepper conceded. "But I reserve the right to make an offer. We can pay more: look at the student loan bill. It's worse than yours."

"You can hire her as consultant. And remind me to cuff Tony upside the head when we get back to New York: I'm pretty sure hacking my financials is a felony."

Pepper snickered. "Like he left any evidence that could be tracked to him."

"I'll settle for being relieved he didn't just go and pay it off. You _can_ offer that to her, by the way, with the consulting clause there's no fear of felony charges."

"And housing?"

"Same deal. And that's got to be easier for security concerns. I do _not_ want to have to explain to Mr. Lewis' shotgun how his one and only step-daughter came to be kidnapped by aliens while riding the subway from the outer boroughs to Manhattan." Caroline said.

"Why you?" Pepper asked.

"Because," Caroline turned her tablet off for landing, sliding it and the files back into her brief tote, "if she accepts the offer, then Phil is assigning her to be our mutually shared minion."

"Is that a good idea?" Clint asked. "The last time she was a minion, she ended up driving the entire hardware control and installation department of NASA and Pegasus to Vegas."

"And what happened in Vegas…?"

"Ended on Muessese Island, hijacking _The Fearful Lightning of the North_ from the RCMP."

 

**11:30 AM, Wednesday, Culver University, Culver, VA**

Ms. Darcy Lewis  
Box 25674  
Culver University  
1428 University Avenue  
Culver, VA 23903-5674  


 

November 12, 2012

 

Dear Ms. Lewis:

As you know, we interviewed a number of candidates for the legal research assistant position. It is with regret that I must inform you that we have decided to offer the position to another candidate who is a better fit for our firm's needs.

Thank you so much for taking the time to come to Pickering, Cruz and Huff to meet our interview team. We enjoyed meeting you and our discussions.

We wish you success with your job search and in the future. Thank you for your interest in our firm.

Regards,

Octavio Hammock  
HR Director  
Pickering, Cruz and Huff, LLP  
Washington, D.C.  


 

Darcy didn't quite know why – other than masochism – she had bothered to open the letter when it arrived in her mailbox in the student center. It was the 21st century: companies and law firms didn't write offer letters – they made offer calls or e-mails. This rejection letter would join the other 34 on the wall of shame in her dorm room, in a space shared with the other seven places at which she actually interviewed.

She drained her coffee in one pull, tossed the empty cup into the bin labeled 'compost your cups here!' with extreme prejudice, slammed the door to the stair-top patio open, and stomped out.

"Wednesdays suck." She muttered, hitching her backpack up higher on her shoulder.

"I couldn't agree more." A familiar tenor said from her left just as she got to the top of the stairs.

Darcy jumped to the right, banged into the handrail at the top of the stairs, started to trip down them and caught herself just in time.

"Ouch. You okay?" Clint Barton asked, sliding a hand under Darcy's elbow to steady her while she found her feet. He _almost_ fit into the student body crowd. If he had left the butter-soft black leather jacket, holster and gun at home, he'd have been indistinguishable from a grad student in his scruffy t-shirt, jeans, sunglasses, and spiky hair.

"And now there's you." Darcy's impromptu summer internship in Norway had been educational in several ways. She waited.

"You still drinking, fighting and making your ancestors proud, Darcy?" Clint asked, using her SHIELD-issued pass phrase.

"More often than you tech-stealing Federal goons are." Darcy bit out her counter-sign. "What the hell do you want this time, Barton?" She started down the stairs to the University Green, walking up the brick-paved path on the right side.

Clint was caught a little off-guard, but kept up, crossing to her right at the bottom of the stairs. Darcy had been spirited and gutsy in New Mexico, but actual spitefulness had been reserved for the drunks who couldn't take a polite 'no, thank you.' He caught up easily with her, and said, "We had a lunch appointment, remember? And your deposition was re-scheduled for this afternoon?"

"Got to bail, sorry." Darcy replied. "Can't miss my seminar just to be ogled at by Fabian the Fatuous Lawyer for Federal Assholes. I'm going to need all the goodwill I can get from my professors." She kept walking at a good clip, head up, shoulders down and back.

Clint could see her repeating the word 'murder' in her mind: he'd been there when Natasha taught her the trick of walking so that everyone got out of your way.  He didn't have any difficulty matching her steps.

 "Your sparky personality isn't enough?" He tried for a light and cheerful tone.

It missed its target.

Darcy stopped in the middle of the path, spun on him, and started stalking towards him. He stepped back off the path and into a tree lawn between the green and a parking lot. " _No_ , Agent Barton, it's _not_. And thanks to you people, it's just about all I'm going to have when I get out of here, because 'Summer internships 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012: Redacted' is _not what prospective employers want to see on a résumé._ " She stopped when she had him backed up against a lamp-post and continued to snarl. "So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to class so I can finish this futile exercise in hubris and then get on with wasting the rest of my life. Is that quite all right with you?"

Clint's eyes narrowed, as he took in the envelope in her hand. He plucked it out of her grip easily, and opened the letter.

"What the hell _is_ it with you people taking my stuff?" Darcy grumbled and thumped down onto a convenient bench donated by the class of 1892. Her backpack slid to the ground next to her.

"Dunno, what is it with you suing us?" Clint replied, reading the letter. He handed it back. "Shit, Darce, I'm sorry."

"Well that just makes it all better, then, doesn't it?" She replied, leaning forward, hands on her knees, staring at the students playing ultimate on the green.

"Yeah, I know." Clint sat down next to her, nudging her pack over a little. He shoulder bumped gently. "Free food, though." Students, Bruce had taught him, were very simple organisms to manipulate, especially when offered free sustenance and / or caffeine.

She shook her head. "I really can't, Clint. I'm sorry. I _have_ to get into the MA program here, because I'm going to need a GRE waiver, which they _might_ consider giving me since I'm a student here, and I have to get funded, or else I'm homeless next month." She put her head in her hands and stared intently at the ground. "And I'm really, really _not_ up to dealing with Fabian the Fathead."

Someone female snickered and sat down next to Darcy. "I'm going to have to add that to the office list."

Darcy looked up from her examination of the pebble, acorn and twig still-life on the pavement.The woman who sat down next to her had on what looked like the SHIELD-issue three-piece black business suit and sunglasses. A hand wearing a panic button similar to Darcy's settled a black leather brief-tote settled on the ground next to Darcy's backpack. As the interloper sat up, Darcy realized that she had finally met someone with bust endowment issues similar to her own.

The woman turned a little in the seat so she could make eye contact with Darcy and pulled her sunglasses off, tucking the ear-piece into her upper jacket pocket. "Hi. You don't have to deal with Michael Fabian today."

"Oh, goody. I'm relieved beyond words."

"I'm sure you're just thrilled. You _do_ have to deal with me."

Darcy's eyebrows climbed. "And you are?"

New woman nodded towards Clint. "His lawyer. And the rest of the group's."

Darcy looked to Clint for confirmation, and he nodded. "Darcy Lewis, Caroline Lakehurst. Caroline, Darcy."

"Hi." Darcy said. She'd used the same tone she'd used to tell her father that she'd run over her baby brother's tricycle with the family Buick.

"Hi." Caroline replied, extending a hand.

Darcy perfunctorily shook it and went back to sulking.

Caroline took her hand back, reached into an inner jacket pocket and pulled out a notebook. She opened the notebook, scratched an item off a list, closed it, and tucked it back into her pocket. She high-fived Clint behind Darcy's back and then grinned at Darcy and looked positively giddy.

"What are you doing?" Darcy asked. She was getting a little more used to 'weird,' but this was beyond the norm even for her life.

"Knocking an item off my bucket list. Shake hands with author of Supreme Court winning brief." Caroline's smile calmed a little, and her blue eyes danced mischievously. "Or are you going to try to tell me that you aren't the woman who wrote the _writ of certiorari_ application, brief, arguments and responses for _Foster v. United States_ _Department of Homeland Security_?"


	2. Laying Frame

**SHIELD** **Headquarters, Tuesday Afternoon**

"Explain this to me, Ms. Lakehurst," Col. Fury demanded, hanging over his desk and tapping through the offer paperwork for Darcy Lewis on his tablet.

"I'm sorry, Colonel?" Caroline asked, a little taken aback. She was used to being the most abrupt person in the room.

"This offer of employment, Ms. Lakehurst." Fury said, sliding his fingers back and forth across the tablet. "It has changed considerably since Mr. Coulson sent it to you."

"Ah. Yes, it has." Caroline relaxed by about a nanometer.

"Can you explain these changes?" Fury opened a paper folder sitting next to his tablet. It contained the originals Phil had sent Caroline. Fury looked from tablet to file, still looming over his desk.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely."

Fury sat down behind his desk and looked at Caroline. She remained silent and he raised his eyebrow. "Well?"

"Oh. You actually want me to explain. Sorry. Witness habit."

"Ms. Lakehurst, you are not indispensible."

"Very few people actually are, I've found, Colonel."

Phil said without looking up from his own tablet, "Ms. Lakehurst, you were only supposed to vet the paperwork for compliance with various employment laws. Why did you change the offer terms?"

"Because I like breathing, Mr. Coulson." Caroline replied flatly. "And the mockery of an offer you and Col. Fury prepared would have ended that habit in about…" she made a show of thinking, "…call it three years. _Maybe_ four."

"Mockery, Ms. Lakehurst?" Fury asked. "It's a standard offer for our administrative support personnel."

Caroline raised both her eyebrows, looked at Phil and said, "then I'm going to have to ask you to bump me up on the waiting list for hand-to-hand, Phil, because y'all are screwed."

"Ms. Lakehurst…" Fury began.

"Col. Fury," Phil looked up. He was pretty sure the last time someone had interrupted Fury, Phil'd had to get creative with the body disposal process. Caroline carried on without noticing. "If you are making GS-01 offers to recent college graduates and they're accepting, then they're one of three things." She held up a thumb. "Desperate because they're _that_ badly qualified," index finger, " _that_ driven toward public service," middle finger, "or they're **_plants_**." She pointed at the offer Phil had prepared. "And if they're _not_ the third before the end of their second year, they will be at this pay level, even if they start out as the second."

Fury looked at the pointing fingers, closed the file and the tablet. "You're fired, Ms. Lakehurst. NDA applies, hand over your side-arm."

Caroline stood up, carefully removed her hand gun, ejected the clip and set it on Fury's desk, she cleared the chamber, engaged the safety, and set the weapon down, followed by her ID, holster, mobile phone and tablet. "Will that be all, Col. Fury?"

Fury looked at Phil. "Mr. Coulson?"

"We could hear her out, sir. Finding someone who can actually talk to Captain Rogers like he's a human being is hard enough. Finding a new lawyer for the entire team is going to involve poaching from Ms. Potts, and I was under the impression we made it a policy to not poach from Ms. Potts."

"She certainly poaches enough from us." Fury grumbled. "Fine. Ms. Lakehurst, you're not fired. Expand on your last statement, please." The word choice sounded like a request: the tone was one of demand.

Caroline left the gun on the desk and sat back down. "Start with our average administrative assistant. They have to have college degrees and qualify for level one, which means an absence of criminal record. In New York City, those two criteria alone have a market value of $43,000. SHIELD offers 26k. That means that you've got administrative assistants with security clearances working shifts at the Target or asking 'do you want fries with that?' to make up for the seventeen grand that they're giving up to serve their country.

"After taxes, but before benefits, that means that they take home $1,500 a month. Add in benefits – healthcare, vision, superhero malpractice, life – and they get to $1,214 a month. Col. Fury, do you know what our employer has determined is the poverty level for New York City?"

"Assume I'm not up on the latest figures from the Bureau of Labor and Statistics, Ms. Lakehurst."

"One thousand, two hundred and twenty-six dollars a month."

Fury's jaw dropped. He closed it. "We're paying our research and administrative assistants less than the poverty level?"

"Does rather bring a new level to 'ask not what your country can do for you,' doesn't it. But there's more, in the case of Ms. Lewis."

"I can't wait. Continue." He re-opened his tablet and began an e-mail to HR about starting a security and salary review for the SHIELD's entire support staff.

"Ms. Lewis is about to be an alumna of Culver University. Tuition there is approximately $43,000 a year. Room and board is another $12,500, and books – and her rather considerable late fees at the library – add another $1,500 per semester. Her aid package brought tuition down to $28,000 a year, inclusive. Pell grants covered $5,500 per year. She had $10,000 in savings that Culver basically pushed her to put it all into the first year, which is why she took a paid research assistantship slot for six credits with Dr. Foster in 2009, and then had an extra semester she had to spend out there because we wouldn't let her go back to school – a semester she still had to pay for, in order to stay enrolled."

"End this equation for me, Ms. Lakehurst."

"Ms. Lewis owes the Federal government an even $100,000, and because this offer package pays her more than the poverty level, our gracious colleagues at Sallie Mae are going to start collecting $830 a month. Or a pound of flesh. And if she takes an outside job, they'll take more."

"What about the [Federal income based repayment program](http://studentaid.ed.gov/repay-loans/understand/plans/income-based)?" Phil asked.

"Well, that's a bit of a problem, Phil. Ordinarily, she'd qualify. It kicks in at 150% of the poverty level…"

"Stop." Fury said. "Just stop. Am I alone in this room in still worried about us paying our mission-critical administrative support personnel less than the federal poverty level?"

"I'm mostly concerned that someone making $15,000 a year in New York City isn't considered poor, Colonel." Phil said.

"All right, so you bumped her up to a paralegal specialist." Fury said. "Why the post-graduate tuition offer?"

"It's about 2/3 of what we budget per capita continuing training and education." Caroline shrugged. "It's within budget: I just specified graduate study or law school."

"And allowing her to accept consulting contracts with non-SHIELD organizations?" Fury asked.

"It specifies Stark Industries, and will save us the cost of having to ask the Department of Justice to prosecute her for accepting bribes when we have to move her into Stark Tower anyway. She's 20 – there's no way we let her live out in the boroughs, and roommates would be a security nightmare." Caroline said.

"We let _you_ live out in the boroughs," Fury pointed out.

"For now." Caroline replied, amused. "Also, I'm 35 and have lived there for seven years – I've only worked here since Labor Day. All manner of things have changed since then." She looked at the gun, clip, holster, ID and mobile still sitting on Fury's desk. "I've also got _very_ few delusions that I'm going to be permitted to remain in residence through the end of my current lease. And Ivan Il'ich has told me straight-out that my lease is not going to be renewed."

"Consulting, though?" Phil asked.

"If we include it, we reduce the odds that Ms. Potts will poach her. Her job description includes liaising with the scientists associated with the Initiative. She's going to be wrangling Drs. Foster and Banner anyway: if we throw in 'consulting,' then we've gotten Captain Rogers some backup for wrangling Stark."

"And I can move the title 'cat herder' off my job description." Phil said.

"It does seem better suited to your prospective minion." Fury said, closing the tablet. "I'm sold. Just tell me that we don't have to pay her lawyer tomorrow so we can get the Foster deposition done and you can get on with getting her data through the publication process."

"Mr. Stark's e-mail of this morning assures me that the Foundation has cut the check for Mr. Young's retainer and that it has been cashed. We're covered, sir." Caroline answered.

"Good." Fury stood up again. "Don't let me detain you, Ms. Lakehurst."

"Col. Fury." Caroline stood, tablet in hand, and headed for the door.

"Ms. Lakehurst," Phil asked, "forget something?" Caroline turned and he looked from her to Fury's desk. "I'd hate for you to be re-fired just for failing to carry mandatory equipment."

"Blast. And here I'd hoped you wouldn't notice." She came back to Fury's desk, strapped on the holster, safetied, loaded, and holstered her side arm, putting the cell phone on the belt afterwards.

"Not likely," Fury said. "Finding lawyers is hard enough. Finding people who don't freak out at our people's bound back volumes of issues is hard enough. Finding both counts as a labor of Hercules."

"The Colonel really hates cleaning stables." Phil explained.

"Really?" Caroline asked. "I was under the impression that it was the hydras that gave him fits." She headed back for the door.

"Nah," Fury answered. "Hydras mainly give the Captain fits. I'm allergic to hay."

"Good thing it's not Cretan Bulls." Caroline said at the door. "We _do_ work for the US government, after all."

**Wednesday, University County Club, Culver, VA**

"So, what happens now?" Darcy asked.

"Well, several things." Caroline answered, setting her iced tea down. "First, we finish the hoop jump of getting a deposition about what you did this summer while working with Dr. Foster. That's nothing complicated, but it might sound scary at the outset."

"Okay…" Darcy set her fork down. "Why?"

"Because before we begin with it, I'll be advising you of your Miranda rights, and before we even get _that_ far, you'll be spending about…" Caroline thought then shrugged. "I'd guess an hour with your lawyer."

"I don't have a lawyer." Darcy said immediately. "Marc Jenson worked purely on a contingency basis for Jane."

"I'm aware." Caroline said. "I'm also aware that you're an undergraduate, and thus have about enough money to your name to _maybe_ get pizza tonight, and that you probably shouldn't have splurged for the coffee this morning. This is why I asked Mr. Coulson to speak to Ms. Potts when he first assigned this to me." She looked at Pepper to continue, and Darcy joined her gaze.

Pepper swallowed, and looked at Caroline. "Do you do that deliberately?"

"The re-directing conversation to someone who's chewing? Yes. They teach it to you in second-semester 'torturing undergraduates for fun and indebtedness.'" Caroline smiled serenely.

"You folks are really weird, you know that?" Clint asked.

"Women?" Pepper asked archly.

"Intellectuals," Darcy countered.

"SHIELD associates?" Caroline suggested.

"Nope, just you three." Clint answered.

"Clint, shut up and go play with your arrows." Caroline sniped.

"Wait – aren't I your client? Are you allowed to say that to me?"

Caroline pulled her notebook and pencil out of her pocket, scribbled on it, tore the page out and handed it to him.

The note read 'Clint, shut up and go play with your arrows.' He looked from the note to Caroline, eyebrow arched. "Seriously?"

"And I just billed you for an hour." Caroline said sweetly.

"Right, I'll just…" Clint cleared his throat, and then asked, "Pepper, could you pass the salt?"

Pepper obliged, and then turned to Darcy. "Darcy, I'm sure you've heard of the Maria Stark Foundation."

"'Support for this program is brought to you by,' yes, it rings a bell." Darcy answered, daring to pick her fork up again.

"Precisely," Pepper answered. "Part of what the Foundation does is help to defray unexpected costs of individuals involved in research. For example, we might pay for someone's conference attendance fee, or get SI legal to do a patent review for someone's new discovery or invention." Darcy nodded her understanding. "We also have a section that deals with retaining counsel for researchers who get called as witnesses – expert or otherwise – and have to testify under oath."

"See, the thing is," Caroline picked up, "these days, 'you have the right to counsel,' needs to apply to everyone, not just the criminally accused. For the kind of work you've been doing, the odds that you have a really good idea of what you're allowed to or not allowed to talk about are pretty slim. At the same time, a deposition is under oath, which means that if you lie, you've committed perjury. And really, one set of felony defenses in a quarter is _plenty_ for me. So I asked Mr. Coulson to see if there was any way the Maria Stark Foundation could find a lawyer for you."

"Which we did," Pepper answered, "slightly complicated by the fact that we needed to find someone who's cleared to talk to you about everything you've done since the summer of 2009 to present, _and_ someone who hasn't worked for either SI or SHIELD."

"Or, really, the federal government recently," Clint added.

"And was roughly in the Culver University neighborhood." Pepper concluded.

"Which was stickier than I expected." Caroline concluded.

"So we found you an attorney, retained him on your behalf, sent over the materials Bruce prepped Caroline on…"

"A process that was significantly easier than I expected it to be for a history grad student," Bruce mused over his own salad.

"Liberal arts, Dr. Banner, remember? Four of them are math-based?" Caroline reminded him with a smile.

He shrugged. "Usually the students in my graduate level physics seminars have more than one undergraduate geology class, is all."

"Of all the people in the Initiative, Dr. Banner, you're the last one I'd expect to make assumptions based on appearances." Caroline said thoughtfully.

"Oh?"

"I'll explain while Ms. Lewis is with her lawyer." She answered. "Short version, Darcy: you've got a lawyer, he's paid for, you're to tell him _everything_ that has happened since Mr. Odinson… dropped in on New Mexico… and ask him _anything_ you want or need to. At all. Answer every question he asks fully, truthfully, and in as much detail as he asks for."

"Kind of like Natasha's interrogation exercise," Clint explained helpfully. "He'll tell you when you can stop."

"While there will be an agent outside the conference room where you're meeting with him, you have my word that no one is going to record your conversation with him." Caroline said. "Ms. Lewis, look at me." Darcy set her fork down, looked up, and Caroline met her gaze square on, the older woman's eyes dark and serious. "Do you believe me when I tell you that we're not going to listen to your conversation with your attorney, and that we are not going to arrest you?"

Darcy swallowed and nodded. Caroline smiled. "Good. I don't want you to be scared, anxious, or worried about this. It's not going to be painful, and hopefully, it'll be quick."

Darcy took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, then what?"

"We'll talk about that after we're done with the deposition." Caroline said.

"Agent Barton, Hunt here, Mr. Young has arrived," Andrew Hunt reported into Clint's earpiece.

Clint sat up straighter as Hunt spoke, and tapped the 'transmit' button. "Understood, Agent Hunt. See him into…" He looked at Caroline for the room.

"Camellia." She answered.

He rolled his eyes. "The Camellia conference room on the ground level."

"Understood. Hunt out."

Clint nodded to Caroline. "He's here."

"Great." Caroline smiled. "Let's go talk to your lawyer, shall we?" She pushed back from the table, and gestured for Darcy to walk ahead of her.

Darcy wasn't sure what she'd been expecting in a lawyer retained for her by the Stark Foundation, but she was certain that Derrick Young wasn't it. For one, he looked like he was a linebacker: about 6' 4", and solid muscle. He had dark skin, brown eyes, and wore his hair in a very short, tight Afro that had just a hint of gray at the temples. He wore a slightly sharper suit than Caroline's, and his tie had Harvard shields on it.

Caroline greeted him politely and enthusiastically. "Mr. Young, I'm glad we can finally meet."

"Likewise, Ms. Lakehurst." Young rumbled back in a deep bass voice. He offered his card, accepted Caroline's in return and turned to Darcy, offering his hand. "Ms. Lewis, I'm Derrick Young."

Darcy gingerly took his hand and shook it.

"Darcy, Mr. Young has been retained on your behalf by the Maria Stark Foundation." Caroline said. "As such, anything you say to him is privileged, and cannot be revealed to anyone barring subpoena or your permission. The conference room is yours: Agents Barton, Hunt and Piñeda will be providing security, and if you should have need of assistance, your panic button, as always, is on your person. Mr. Young," Caroline turned to the lawyer. "You've got the room for as long as you need it. Let me or one of the agents know whenever you're ready." She opened the door to the small conference room.

"Thank you, Ms. Lakehurst." Caroline nodded, stepped out, and shut the door firmly behind her. Young turned to Darcy, squired her into a seat, sat down opposite her, pulled out a stack of files about four inches thick, and smiled. "Hi. I'm Derrick Young, and I'm your lawyer." He offered her his hand across the table again.

"Darcy Lewis." She shook, this time less gingerly.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm going to ask you some questions about what you've been doing on your summer vacations." He grinned and opened the top file, labeled '2009.'

Caroline nodded to Rick Piñeda, crossed the hall to the conference room where Bruce and Pepper were, and sat down.

"We're back to 'Dr. Banner?'" Bruce asked mildly.

Caroline pulled her tablet out and started going over her notes. "I'm thinking perhaps we don't know each other as well as I thought we did."

"This is about the geology crack, isn't it."

"Yep."

"What'd I miss?"

"The part where I got shoved into every single A.P. lab science class including Physics C and Calculus BC, and then into multivariable and diffy queue at Carleton because I had to take two semesters of math in residence for the breadth requirement, as well as those two semesters of geology." Her voice was quiet and tight as she mostly talked to the tablet before she looked up. "I thought I told you my mom is Anita Harrington?"

Bruce blinked. "No," he said slowly, "you told me your mother was a mud-fud doing research at Georgetown. You somehow neglected to mention she was the only living person to win the Garza prize twice, and the holder of the Jenkins chair in virology."

Pepper watched the conversation between the two of them, and asked, " _I'm_ missing something now?"

"Anita Harrington, M.D., Ph.D.," Bruce explained, "figured out how to custom-engineer vaccines using chromosome molecular adhesion. She's been on the short list for about ten years."

"The short list?" Pepper asked, looking at Caroline, who'd gone back to her tablet.

"For the Nobel." Bruce continued, "that makes you one of _those_ Harringtons, doesn't it."

"Yeah." She shrugged at Pepper, looking up again, with an apologetic twist to her lips. "I'm kind of the family fluke."

"A bit, yeah." Bruce winced. "Sheesh, you must be the first non-scientist since… what, 1875?"

"Give or take."

"And you're a lawyer."

"And a history grad student," Caroline answered. "Double whammy of 'not-science.' And I'm not even something _respectable_ , like an IP lawyer…"

"But a government lawyer. Who really can't talk about her work." Bruce nodded. "I think I see why you call Tony ' _Dr._ ' Stark when he's at his worst."

"Yeah." Caroline sat up more straight as they heard the door across the hall open. "It does concentrate the mind into a setting for 'family feud' nicely. Which, I'm sorry," she looked at Bruce, "was mean of me. You didn't have any way of knowing you were walking into the minefield of my education: I apologize."

"Don't." Bruce said ruefully. "I've got some experience with fucked-up childhoods."

Agent Piñeda knocked and opened the door. "Mr. Young says they're ready whenever you are?"

"Great," Caroline said, pulling out her own thick files. "Let's get this show on the road."

Caroline smiled at Derrick as they came in. "We're off the record. She know her lines?"

"Yep."

"Okay, then," Caroline put a SHIELD-logoed StarkPlayer on the table. Derrick put out a similar recorder stamped with his firm's logo. They both tapped 'record.'

Caroline began. "This is a deposition being taken Wednesday, November 14, 2012 regarding the research conducted by Dr. Jane Foster, F-O-S-T-E-R, May sixth of 2009 in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico through August eighth 2012, in Tromsø, Norway. It is being recorded separately by both Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division and for Ms. Lewis' attorney, and StarkTranscribe software is being used by mutual agreement in lieu of a court reporter. Present today are Ms. Lewis, the witness, Ms. Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, Dr. Bruce Banner of Stark Industries and SHIELD, and I'm Caroline Lakehurst, attorney for SHIELD. Ms. Lewis please raise your right hand." Darcy raised her right hand. "Do you affirm that the testimony you will give in this deposition proceeding will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"Thank you. Please identify yourself and spell your last name for the record."

"Darcy Ann Lewis, L-E-W-I-S."

"Ms. Lewis, are you represented by counsel?"

"Yes."

"Counsel, please identify yourself, spell your last name and identify your firm for the record."

"Derrick Jamal Young, Y-O-U-N-G, Kendall, Young, and Floss, LLP."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. Ms. Lewis, do you understand that you have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer any questions?"

"I do."

"Good. Ms. Lewis, Do you understand that while we are not in a courtroom, this deposition is being conducted under oath?

"I do."

"Thank you."

The deposition itself was mostly uncomplicated questions about when Darcy had been working for Dr. Foster and who was footing the bill at the time. Occasionally, Caroline asked a question about data that Darcy had transcribed, and about the photograph of Thor's arrival. After about an hour, Caroline asked the loaded questions.

"Ms. Lewis, to your knowledge, was Dr. Foster's attempt to construct an Einstein-Rosen bridge successful in 2009?"

"I don't know."

Caroline repeated the questions for 2010, 2011 and finally asked, "To your knowledge, was Dr. Foster's attempt to construct an Einstein-Rosen bridge successful in 2012?"

Darcy answered, "I don't know."

Caroline looked at Derrick. "Mr. Young, do you have any questions for this witness?"

"I do not."

"Then that concludes this deposition." She reached out and tapped the StarkPlayer off, as did Young.

"Okay, then." Caroline smiled and reached into a box on the table. "Good witness." She passed an oatmeal cookie without raisins to Darcy. "Have a cookie. Clint baked them. He said you hated raisins." Darcy smiled back and accepted the cookie without replying.

Young broke into laughter. "Okay, I see why Stan Resnick in your office said I'd like you. Darcy, you're allowed to speak freely, we're off the record."

Caroline grinned and passed a cookie to him. "How do you know Stan?"

"I got him through Torts II."

"And he got you through…?"

"Evidence."

"Much becomes clear." Caroline pulled out another folder. "Right. That's done. Ms. Lewis," she said, turning to Darcy, "SHIELD would like to make you an offer of employment."

"As would Stark Industries," Pepper added.

Darcy looked at Derrick. "Well?"

He shrugged. "I'd say that Kendall, Young would, too, but after I managed to bring in four paralegals who turned out to be AIM plants in our IP division, Jesse Floss and Reneé Kendall said I'm not allowed to make hiring decisions alone. Also, I'm still your lawyer: it's a conflict."

"I could fire you?"

"Not a good idea," Pepper said. "So long as he works for you, he can review both offers with you." She handed copies of Stark Industries' offer package to Darcy and Derrick.

Caroline passed them copies of the SHIELD offer. "Basically, the difference comes to whether you want to go to grad or law school _now_ , or wait 2 years. The money's not any different, because we're happy to let you consult to SI on a contract basis. Both offers have comprehensive benefits packages…"

"And they both include superhero malpractice insurance options _and_ dental," Bruce said. "And let me tell you, dental is _hard_ to come by these days."

"Superhero malpractice…?" Darcy looked at Derrick who shook his head.

"Not familiar, sorry."

"Two kinds," Caroline answered. "One covers your property and provides supplemental medical in the event of another Battle of Midtown. The other covers you if, well…" She tried to find a tactful way to put it.

Bruce came to her rescue. "If you end up like me." Darcy looked at him. "The other guy destroyed the new library wing right at the end of your freshman year."

"That was _you_?" Darcy asked, looking appalled.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about…" Bruce began.

Darcy interrupted, "why the hell haven't you sued the Army?"

Bruce stopped dead and looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

"For violating the _Posse Comitatus_ Act of 1878." Darcy said. "The Army's banned from enforcing civilian law on US soil, except when specifically authorized to do so by Congress. The governor didn't call out the National Guard, so what the hell did the Army think they were doing?"

Caroline smiled at Pepper. "I win."

Pepper sighed. "You win." She looked at Darcy. "At least consider taking on the consulting work. You wrangle scientists _exceptionally_ well, and trust me, I speak from experience."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, but I wish I could take credit for the 'go play with your arrows' banter! That, as well as the betaing, was by [Yin-Again](http://yin-again.livejournal.com)
> 
> The loan repayment play mentioned by Phil in the first part is real, and but _one_ of the options available to you if you're repaying student loans! Check out the link!
> 
> Finally, usual disclaimer applies: This story is based on characters created by Stan Lee et al, and that are currently in circulation in print and film through Marvel Comics, among others. No money is being made by the author from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All rights remain the owners'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Monday, November 26**

 

"Culver University seems to not take me seriously." Pepper Potts said when Caroline answered her office phone. "Is it the nickname?"

"I doubt you'd have much more luck calling yourself 'Dalek,' Ms. Potts." Caroline replied. "Can you be more specific about that which they are not taking seriously?"

"You remember me saying during our meeting with the Ombudsman and Dean last week that they could either produce Bruce's intellectual property immediately, or I could tell R&D that every grant they got from us was to be subjected to immediate review."

"I do. I also recall saying that we thought about a week would be the right amount of time for them to come up with the materials."

"And them saying they didn't think that would pose any difficulties."

"Indeed."

"Guess what has _not_ shown up in our receiving office, addressed to Dr. Bruce Banner, Stark Industries, R &D?" Pepper asked.

"You _are_ kidding me." Caroline said.

"I am not."

"Blast." Caroline sighed. "Okay, I guess we need to figure out the next move on actually _getting_ the materials back. Do you think we've given them too much warning to get alternative funding?"

"I doubt it." Pepper replied. "A fair number of those grants are eight figures. When are you free to come by? We'll sort out what we're doing next."

"Ms. Potts…"

" _Pepper_ , Caroline."

"Sorry. Pepper, I'm not the one running a Fortune 500 company. I'll have to double check with Ms. Burr and Agent Coulson, but I suspect I'm available whenever you need me to be."

"Come by my office at 4, then, our legal team ought to have some solution worked out."

"4 it is. Will that be all, Ms. Potts?"

"Cute. See you at 4."  Pepper rang off.

Caroline thought seriously about banging her head into her desk. She had had _plans_ for that evening. Plans that had involved printouts from microfiche and microfilms of newspapers and the coverage of Häyhä the White Death, not poring through case law on the _Posse Comitatus_ act.

 

**Culver University Library**

 

"Darcy, what's wrong?" Ashley accepted the stack of books back from Darcy at the main desk of Culver's library.

"What do you mean, 'What's wrong?' I'm returning my library books." Darcy answered.

"Yes. On time. We were counting on those late fees to pay for the Christmas party." Ashley answered.

"Very funny." Darcy stuck her tongue out at the other woman.  "I'm done, for a change. On time and everything."

"Even NGOs and epistemic communities?"

"Even NGOs and epistemic communities." Darcy answered. "The papers are in and the next two weeks are nothing but sitting through other people's presentations. I've even gotten a job set up for after Christmas."

"Oookay…." Ashley said, logging in the books. "I'll just be going and telling my parents to make sure the storm cellar's stocked then, because clearly the apocalypse is nigh."

"Yeah, I'm a little freaked out, too." Darcy admitted. She looked at the glass case behind Ashley at the 'public-use' computers right in front of the circulation desk, and sighed.

Ashley had known Darcy since the spring 2010 term, when they had been hall-mates after Darcy's return from her unexpectedly extended internship in New Mexico.  "You actually do looked freaked out. What's wrong?"

Darcy shook her head. "Nothing. Just a little jumpy."

Ashley raised her eyebrows, logging in the next book. Her ramrod-straight, black hair swished a bit as she glanced at the reflection Darcy was looking at and then directly at the man Darcy was observing. "You're not usually so… jumpy."

[Friday start here]

Darcy shrugged. "I'm imagining things. It's November. Everyone's in the library."

"True." Ashley kept checking books in, then said, "that Icelandic saga book that's on reserve came back in. You want it for this afternoon?"

"Sure." Darcy said.

"C'mon down to the reserve desk, then." Ashley walked down to the reserve end of the circulation desk and tapped her co-worker Veronica's shoulder. "Is 'Icelandic Outlaw' still in?"

Veronica looked up, typed the title into the computer and looked at the answer. "Yep." Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked at Darcy. "Uhm." She lowered her voice to library level. "I don't you to think I'm being paranoid, but I think that guy's following you."

"Computer guy?" Darcy asked.

"With the starched, snow-white shirt, yeah." Veronica answered. "He came down here from the other end of the table just after you did."

"And is not actually using the computer," Ashley murmured. "So, Darcy," she said in her normal tones, "did you want a receipt for these? Adam's probably pre-printed a 'late notice' letter and bill, so some backup wouldn't go amiss."

"Sure, that'd be great." Darcy answered.

"Cool. Come on around." Ashley pulled up the counter split for Darcy to come in behind the desk. "Veronica, can you cover for me while I go write up Darcy's receipt in the office?"

"Sure," Veronica replied and walked down to the circulation end of the desk.

Ashley was pretty certain she wasn't imagining the slightly-too-neat 'student' stiffening when she took Darcy back into the circulation office and closed the door, pulling the blind down and angling the slats slightly.

"Okay, I'm not imagining that." Darcy said, as the 'student' looked right at the door they had closed, muttered, and tapped a Bluetooth earpiece.

"You are not imagining that." Ashley agreed. "And no one who's an actual student has hair that neat and closely-cut in November. Or clothes that unwrinkled."

"Even the ultra-conservative kids are down to jeans and shirts they didn't fold right out of the laundry," Darcy agreed. She pulled out her phone. "Dammit."  She tapped the little stylized eagle on the home screen. "I really hope this doesn't get freaky-strange."

"Because un-freaky-strange is so much easier to handle," Ashley retorted.

"You really have no idea," Darcy replied, hitting the green button for 'Send.'

 

**SHIELD Operations, New York**

 

Rick Piñeda's phone rang on the 'Protected Witnesses' emergency line. He tapped 'answer' on the phone and spoke into the mic on his headset. "Operations, Agent Piñeda speaking."

"Agent Piñeda, staking horses split discovery." Darcy replied.  "Which one were you, tall and moustache or less-tall-and-hunky?"

"I never turn down being called hunky," Rick replied, confirming Darcy's 'I think I'm in trouble, but not to the point of using the panic button' code. "Where are you?" he asked, to keep her on the line while he tracked her cell signal.

"Culver University Library, in the circulation office."

"I'm assuming you didn't butt dial," Rick said, keying up the 'available resources on site' menu.

"No: this guy's been following me all day. Dining hall, student center, coffee shop, anthropology department, working world transition coordinator's office."

"Working world transition coordinator's office?"

"Yeah. I thought I lost him at the Student Council meeting, but then he turned back up at the library."

"Is he still there?" Rick started the 'hack local CCTVs' program, and started scrolling through directories of Culver's cameras.

Darcy looked at Ashley, who glanced out the window and nodded. "Yep."

"Right." Rick started a direct feed from the cameras in and around the library to his computer. "What's he look like?"

Darcy thought, then said, "Six foot, clean cut, short hair, pristine white shirt, khakis, hanging out at the computers in front of the circulation and reserves desk."

"Got him." Rick captured a still of the stalker's face and loaded it into the facial-recognition software for processing. "Okay, Darcy, here's what's going to happen." He opened the file with the blueprint of the library. "There's another exit from the circulation office into the cubicle farm, and an exit from there through the loading dock."

"Okay," Darcy said, "what do I do then?"

"When I tell you, you're going to go out the loading dock. You'll be met and exchange your usual ID code. Go with them, we'll get you to a safe location."

"A safe location like Tromsø safe, or safe location like 'I'll be able to not miss the last two weeks of classes' safe?"

"Right now I'm focusing on getting you safely out of there, Darcy." Rick answered.

"Uh-huh. Glad I already did my presentation on politics of regional councils in Central Asia, then." Darcy said. "What about Ashley?"

"Ms. Lin should come with you for right now, just to be safe." Rick said.

"Okay, so now what?"

"Now we play twenty questions until your transportation's arrived." Rick answered. "Put me on speaker phone."

 

"Is it as big as a file-box?" Ashley asked.

"Yes," Darcy answered, "thirteen."

"Agent Piñeda." Agent Coulson tapped Rick's shoulder and picked up the handset of his phone "Ms. Lewis, this is the iPod stealing robot. Could you take us off speakerphone, please?"

Darcy clicked off from speakerphone to handset, put the phone to her ear and said, "How's it going, Agent Thiefbot?"

"Traffic was a nightmare this morning. I was stuck on 49th for a day and a half."

"I sympathize." Darcy answered.

"We're bringing you and Ms. Lin out through the loading dock, as Agent Piñeda instructed. Your contact will use your usual ID phrase," Phil repeated Rick's information, "and escort you to your extraction point."

"Extraction?" Darcy asked.

"Getting you to a safe location is going to be a little more complicated than it was the last time."

"Joy."

"I'll convey our apologies to Ms. Lin for the colossal inconvenience she is about to experience once we've got you in. Your ride is pulling up…" Phil looked at the CCTV feed from the loading dock where an unmarked Virginia State trooper's SUV pulled into the library driveway. "Now. Don't hang up, just start walking toward the loading dock."

"Got your bag?" Darcy asked Ashley. The other woman nodded, grabbed her backpack and put it over a shoulder. "Keep a change of clothes in your drawer here?"

Ashley blushed. "Just the… emergencies."

"Good, 'cause making do with weird underwear is always a pain. Grab 'em."  Darcy said.

Ashley pulled open her desk drawer, pulled out a rolled-up pair of mint-green panties. She tucked them into her backpack, zipped the compartment shut and pulled the other strap on.

"Ms. Lewis, get moving." Phil said on the phone.

"Keep your socks on, Spookman, we're moving." Darcy looked out the window of the door into the cubicle maze, confirmed there wasn't anyone there who shouldn't be, opened the door and walked out of the office. The exit sign was lit up to the left, and she nudged Ashley ahead of her. "So other than the traffic, how's New York?" Ashley opened the exit door.

"Chilly. Cold front came through last night."  Phil answered. "Where are you now?"

"Stairs," Darcy answered, following Ashley down the stairs and to the landing with the exit.

"Sir," Rick pointed at a sedan turning up the drive after the SUV with US Government tags.

"Hold there, Ms. Lewis." Phil's eyes narrowed, looking at the tags. He had a serious dislike for poachers. He clicked the 'print frame' command.

Darcy grabbed Ashley's shoulder just as she was going to push the door open. "Holding," she said.

"Their ride's at the dock." Rick said.

"Go. Get straight in the SUV, confirm ID once you're moving." Phil instructed.

Darcy pushed past Ashley, grabbing her hand, slammed the door open and pulled Ashley out behind her. An SUV came to a stop, a woman in a trooper's uniform climbed out of the passenger side, opened the rear door just as they got to the car, closed it after them, climbed in the passenger front and closed the door as the car was moving.

"Ms. Lewis, are you still drinking, fighting and making your ancestors proud?" she asked.

"More often than the tech-stealing goons are," Darcy answered.

"Great. Buckle up. I'm Sergeant Ward."

"The driver's name should be Reed." Phil said. "Check their name-badge."

Darcy looked at the badge in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah."

"Good. Buckle up, you're being met in the hospital. I'm going to hand you back to Agent Piñeda: there were 13 questions remaining.  See you in a couple of hours, Ms. Lewis."

"See you soon, Agent Coulson." Darcy put the phone back on speaker.

Ashley pulled her pack off her back and on to her lap. "Darcy? Who the fuck are you working for?"

"And does it have a handle?" Rick asked on the speaker phone. He covered the mic as Phil reached over his shoulder toward the cube-block's printer.

"Good work, Agent Piñeda." He picked up the printed photo. "Innovative, too. See me at the end of your shift."

"Sir."

"Yes, that's not a yes-or-no question, and yes." Darcy objected. "Ten."

 

With all five of them playing – Sergeants Ward and Reed, Ashley, Darcy and Rick – no one could say who was more surprised when Sergeant Reed said, "is it Mjolnir?" as they pulled into Culver Hospital's Life-Flight helipad's ambulance slot.

Darcy blinked. "Yes. How…?"

"I played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons in high school." He answered, putting the SUV in park. "Dungeon Master had a thing for Norse mythology. I believe that's your ride." He pointed at a sleek white helicopter landing on the helipad with the Stark Industries logo and 'swoop' on it.

Sergeant Ward checked their mirrors, climbed out, and opened the back door.

Darcy stepped out, followed by Ashley. She wiped her hands on her jeans nervously and waited for the back door of the chopper to slide open.

"Hop in, Sparky," Tony Stark said from the pilot's seat. "I'm your ride."

 

**New York, Stark Tower**

 

"Right, so looking at the release Bruce signed for the Serum experiment, all rights to and possession of the samples and data belong to the P.I., whether or not they remained at Culver." Caroline said, looking at the research Sean and Amy had brought up from S.I.'s Legal Department to Pepper's office on the 48th floor.

"P.I.?" Pepper asked.

"Principal investigator," Sean answered. "Who, in this case, was Dr. Banner."

"Yep. There's nothing in here about the University or Army having any rights to _anything_ , except what's specified in the research contract."  Caroline said.

"What's specified in the research contract?" Pepper asked.

"The product resulting from the research, namely, the nanomeds, and _use_ of the process." Amy replied, flipping to the relevant page of the report.

"And what does Dr. Banner mean by 'the process?'" Sean asked. "I was working on the University end."

"The Army can _use_ the process Dr. Banner designed: so to speak, the recipe and the method of assembly and application." Amy answered. "They can let people who work for them – civilians or military personnel – use the process to administer or receive the treatment. They can't use the process as the basis for research unless they receive a new license that covers that from Dr. Banner."

"They also can't sell the nanomeds, give a copy of them to anyone else, or sell the recipe and process to anyone else, including other parts of the US Government or other military branches," Caroline said, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes at the paperwork. She scribbled a note on the legal pad, and continued, "which means that this business with Blonsky in Harlem is _their_ problem, not Bruce's. They broke the terms of their license: that makes them responsible for the fallout."

There was a buzz from Pepper's desk, and Alicia, her assistant, said through the intercom, "Ms. Potts, Dr. Banner's arrived?"

"Thanks, Alicia, show him in."

The door opened, and Bruce stepped in."Sorry I'm late, Pepper," he said.

Pepper waved her hand at him in a brushing off motion. "You're here within a day of the time we specified, you're already miles ahead of Tony on the punctuality front. We're looking at the contract between you, Culver, and the Army about your research."

"Whoever wrote this release deserves some major snaps." Caroline said. "I half expect it to say how many nanograms of product the Army's entitled to."

"Clause 28," Bruce answered with a smile. "After what I saw other researchers go through, I didn't want to leave _anything_ to chance."

Caroline looked up, thought about his answer, smiled, and put her elbow on the conference table. She snapped her fingers four times.

Bruce laughed. "So, what's going on? Pepper, you just said 'Obstreperous Culver is obstreperous, my office, 4,' in your e-mail?"

"They've failed to deliver the goods," Caroline answered.

"The IP from last week?" Bruce asked.

"Indeed."

"Okay, so, who's…?" Bruce waved from Sean to Amy.

"Sean Phillips, Stark Industries' Legal Department." Sean said, offering his hand to Bruce to shake.

"Amy Martin, next office over from his."  Amy answered, offering her own hand after Bruce released Sean's. "We were looking at the release you signed with Culver, and with the Army. Sean worked the university side, I did the Army." She looked at Caroline. "What about their argument that they own the Hulk?" Amy asked, looking at page 12 of the print-out.

"Interesting, but you're right when you write that it's irrelevant." Caroline answered. "While the Army does occasionally assert that their personnel constitute equipment, and individuals enlisted or drafted into the service sign paperwork to that effect.  Bruce did neither. He was, and is a civilian: so is his alter-ego, and if they're claiming they 'own' either, they're violating the 13th Amendment."

"That's a relief." Bruce said.

"So they haven't got any grounds to say that it's their stuff and he can't have it." Pepper said.

"That's the short version, yes, Ms. Potts." Sean answered.

"And they don't have any permission to continue the research he began," Amy added. "Anything they're doing that involves any line of inquiry _he_ started belongs to _him_ , not their lab."

"Regardless of who was paying for it," Caroline concluded. "Which means it's time to depose you, Bruce, get on the record who paid for what when, what you signed, what you were doing, and when."

"Uhm." Bruce shifted in his seat, pushing his glasses up. "That might be a bit of a problem."

Caroline arched an eyebrow. "What kind of problem?"

"The non-disclosure agreement kind."

"And with whom did you sign this NDA?" Sean asked.

"The Army. Part of the clearance process."

Caroline banged her head into the desk. "Of course it is. I guess I get to go looking for subpoenas. Joy."

Pepper's phone started playing 'Every Breath you Take,' and she resisted the urge to mimic Caroline. She answered. "Hi, Tony." She listened for a moment, and then said, "you've got _whom_ on your helicopter?"  Another pause. "Tony, is she even above the age of _consent_?" Pause. "She is. Good. Right. Yes, Caroline and I will see you upstairs. 'Bye." She hung up, and gave up resisting banging her head into the desk.

Bruce tilted his head, and more gently laid his head down where he could make eye contact. "Pepper?"

"SHIELD asked Tony to give Darcy Lewis a ride up from Culver where she was being followed by Army goons." Pepper said.  "They're arriving on the helipad in ten minutes."

Caroline lifted her head a little. "Darcy Lewis. And Tony Stark. In 10,000 spare parts flying in close formation."

"Yeah." Pepper said. She stood up and went over to her in-office bar. "It's past 5, right?"

Caroline looked at her watch. "It is in Nova Scotia."

"Excellent." She held up the Scotch. "Rocks or neat?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This story is based on characters created by Stan Lee et al, and that are currently in circulation in print and film through Marvel Comics, among others. No money is being made by the author from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All rights remain the owners'.


	4. Demo's Always a Mess

**SHIELD Conference Room Tuesday Morning**

"As usual, we start with what went right." Phil looked around the table. "Ms. Lewis?"

"I called in the way I was supposed to."

"Indeed you did. Well done. Agent Piñeda?"

"The twenty questions approach to keeping the protected witness on the line, calm and engaged."

"Correct. The Piñeda approach is now going into the protected witness phone line manual, by the way."

"Most junior agent to make procedure," Clint added. "Good work."

"Agent Barton?"

"Was in the field all day, sir.  Didn't miss. Just here because you CC'd the entire initiative on the e-mail."

"Good point. Ms. Lakehurst?"

"Kept to one drink, didn't hire a sneaker team to get Dr. Banner's IP back from Culver University."

"Well done. Mr. Stark?"

Tony was fidgeting with his necktie, looking at the pattern of iron atoms on it. "Kept the number of FAA regulations broken between Virginia and here to a minimum."

"Minimum?"

"It is actually mathematically impossible to fly anywhere in US airspace without breaking at least one." Tony answered.  "Best you can do is minimize. I kept it to ten, and that's counting Darcy and Ashley separately as 'failures to update passenger list.'"

"Well done, segue man. Have a bagel."  Phil passed Tony the baked goods basket. 

Tony took a napkin, reached into the basket, rooted around, and pulled out an everything bagel. "I see you've studied my methods."

"Pardon?"

"Positive reinforcement." He took a bite out of the bagel and set it on the napkin.

"Actually, I'm taking a page out of Ms. Lakehurst's book: I notice her witnesses and clients follow the rules when she baits them."

"Yes, they do." Caroline said, pouring her coffee.

"And the segue?" Bruce asked.

"FAA regulations and passenger lists. That is what appears to have prompted the sudden interest in Ms. Lewis." Coulson tapped his tablet and brought up the picture that Agent Piñeda had captured from the library's CCTV.  "According to our facial recognition software, this young man is 2nd Lt. Ryan Farmer, of the United States Army.  Lieutenant Farmer is quite far away from his current duty post."

"AWOL?" Steve asked, looking at the file that Phil had e-mailed along with the meeting notification.

"Not at all." Phil answered. "He had orders from his C.O. to come to Virginia."

"And his C.O. is?" Agent Piñeda asked.

"Three guesses, first two don't count." Bruce answered.

"Correct, Dr. Banner. Lt. Ryan is assigned to General Thaddeus Ross."

"And the connection between FAA regulations and passenger lists?" Steve asked.

Caroline flipped through to the file until she found the flight plan filed by the Stark Industries pilot. "Right here. Passengers: Clint Barton, Andrew Hunt, Caroline Lakehurst, Rick Piñeda, Virginia Potts, and Bruce Banner." She looked up. "Who else got this?"

"FAA passenger lists are routinely shared around law enforcement agencies in an effort to make sure that we keep track of the movements of persons of interest."

Caroline nodded. "Okay, that makes sense." She looked up. "Now explain how the hell this got into the hands of the United States' Army, Agent Coulson."

"Searching for AWOL personnel?" Steve suggested.

"Because Stark industries is so well noted for our habit of transporting military personnel fleeing their duty stations." Tony said. "See, this is why I do _not_ like rules. Except science rules. Those are great."

"Except for the law of gravity." Caroline grumbled. "Why haven't you gotten to work repealing that one again?"

"What'd you drop this time?" Rick asked.

"Water bottle."

"With or without the cap?"

"Which do you think, Rick?"

Steve cleared his throat.

Rick blushed.

"To continue, Agent Coulson?" Steve asked.

"Dr. Banner's trip to Culver attracted the attention of General Ross."

"And how did they know that Dr. Banner was meeting with me?" Darcy asked. "It's not like I put it on… Wait." She pulled her phone out and frowned at it. "Why is there no signal?"

"Because your cell phone is not SHIELD issued equipment," Phil answered. "Put it on…?"

Tony looked up from his tablet. "Being ogled at by Fatuous Feds tomorrow, wish me luck."

"Ross isn't stupid." Bruce said. "He could teach obstinate and cantankerous to a walrus with a toothache, but not stupid. He put together 'Feds' and me on a plane to Culver and got the right answer."

"Caroline, seriously, stop with the hand thing, it's freaky." Tony said. "What?"

"Darcy, you friends-locked your Facebook, right?" Caroline asked.

"'Course. There's all kinds of freaks out there, and a taser's not going to stop most of them. Friends-only, always has been."

"So – sock puppet or search warrant?" Caroline asked.

"Sock puppet? Dating yourself there, aren't you, Caroline?" Tony said, still scrolling through the settings on Darcy's friends list.

"Pretty much the only person interested in going out with me, Tony. Which is it?"

"Three possibles." He answered, flicking them up on the projector screen. "One of whom is Ashley Lin's 'brother'"

"Ashley's an only child." Darcy said.

"Ms. Lin has no siblings," Rick said at the same time.

"Okay, that's only slightly alarming," Tony said. "But he popped up right around the time she broke up with her boyfriend Jesse, so I'm betting flame war."

"Flame war?"  Steve asked.

"Flame war: what happens when your friends start spreading rumors about your ex right after you break up – and their friends start doing the same thing about you." Bruce explained, "only online."

"Ah. And sock puppet?"

"Making up identities to make the rumors look like they've got multiple sources." Tony answered. "So, this brings us to prospect number two. 'William Clark,' who identifies himself as…"

"Uncle Bill is _not_ a sock puppet. I've known him since I was in utero." Darcy interrupted. "His wife went to college with my mom."

"Okay, scratch Uncle Bill. This brings us to Kimberly Thomas." Tony said. "And it looks like the ISPs she posts her replies from are all conveniently located within the military industrial complex."

"Sounds like a winner," Phil said. "Agent Piñeda, verify her existence or lack thereof, please, after this."

"Yes, Agent Coulson."

"Why _not_ a search warrant?" Steve asked.

"For the same reason you don't have a badge, Steve." Caroline answered. "Active duty military personnel cannot enforce law within US borders unless authorized by Congress."

"That's why I do the arresting when we're at home and not destroying psychic komodo dragons," Clint said.

"So, they knew Darcy was likely going to meet me." Bruce said. "Why wait two weeks before sending the troops after her?"

"The Army's data mining is probably not as efficient as ours." Clint said. "Figure it took them through the end of the week to put this together."

"Assuming the FAA got them the data the same day that we flew down to Virginia," Rick added.

"And then there's Thanksgiving." Clint said, "and there's no one on campus. So, Monday after Thanksgiving, Lt. Farmer goes on a campus-wide game of follow-the-leader after Darcy."

"And yelled at in the Anthropology Department." Rick said. "It looks like Prof. Alisha Pierson wants to know why he hasn't turned his term paper in." He pulled up the video from the Anthropology Department hallway: Lt. Ryan was cornered by a tiny woman with dark hair in a bun wearing glasses and sagging cardigan. The arm gestures resembled the Helicarrier's deck crew's.

"So, what are we doing about this?" Caroline asked.

"Nothing." Coulson answered. He ignored Caroline's look of disbelief and the firm _click_ of her pen being set on the table.  "We've secured extensions for Ms. Lin on all her remaining work, and Mr. Stark kindly got her home to California early for the holidays. Dr. Banner knows what to do if one of General Ross' people is following him, and Ms. Lewis just demonstrated that she knows what she's supposed to do."

"What did they _want_ , anyway?" Darcy asked. "I mean, I don't _know_ anything."

"Well, that's the thing." Bruce said. "You probably do. But you might not know that you do."

"And since you won _Foster v. US_ , that you both had the _option_ to sue us is on the record. And that to prevent that, the fact that we're negotiating for a license to use Dr. Foster's data from the summer of 2009 is probably a very badly kept secret." Caroline added, her hands folded on the table and still looking at Phil.

"And you did the typing." Phil concluded. "Which means you saw it all."

"They probably thought they could either (a) get you to be their agent to get grounds for SHIELD to be re-militarized, or (b) to give them Bruce." Steve said, "And what you think you know is probably nowhere near what you actually know. Your long term memory does some funny stuff with things you've seen but not really _processed_."

"Is anyone else troubled by the Army's perception that they have every right to just declare open season on US citizens within the US?" Caroline said tersely.  She was asking the room, but looking directly at Phil.

Phil's congenial expression hardened a bit. "Ms. Lakehurst, we need to maintain an open and functional relationship with the armed services, particularly with our international operations."

"So that means that they get to trample over the laws of the US? I'm sorry, did I miss the memo where Azazel zapped us across the planet to re-settle us in Egypt?"

Steve cleared his throat, looking from Caroline to Bruce and back. "Ms. Lakehurst, perhaps this is not the time and place?"

Bruce actually looked quite calm – not a hint of green in sight. "I'm actually with her, Captain. The only way society works is if we have an agreement in place to give us options for working out our differences without resorting to hitting each other over the heads with rocks."

"But you have to admit that in the case of the Hulk, they do have a point about the danger factor."

"No, actually, Captain, _he doesn't._ " Caroline bit out. "That would be one of the major differences between civilians and military personnel. _Dr_. Banner has the right to remain silent, and to expect that unless there's a war on – and even _then_ only when Congress says so – that the Army will be kept on the leash in the hands of its civilian masters,where it belongs, not chasing after people like a _pack of fugitive slave-hunting bloodhounds_." Her voice rose steadily as she spoke, and by the end of her rant, she was yelling.

"Ms. Lakehurst." By contrast, Phil's voice was quiet. "Step out. My office."

Caroline picked up her tablet and pen and complied.

She slammed the conference room door hard enough to shake the walls.

"Six out of ten for being on point." Bruce said.

"East German judge gives her a three for style. Door slamming is so teenaged girl." Tony replied.

Phil tilted his head. "Next on the agenda, holiday party arrangements. Who's running the Secret Santa this year?"

Bruce, Steve and Clint all said together, "Not Tony."

 

Phil came into his office about an hour later. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. On the top of his blotter was a resignation letter over her signature, printed on SHIELD letterhead and dated for that day.

He picked it up and fed it through the shredder. He opened the staff locator on his computer, found Caroline in her office 26 floors below. According to the keystroke logger, she was writing case summaries. It also showed that she'd been on call for warrants on Black Friday, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, in the office for both. Phil awarded her two extra points for work ethic, and then subtracted twenty-five for sensible pacing.  He texted Clint with a request to meet him down in Legal before picking up his wastepaper basket and going down to the elevator bay.

Caroline's door was closed, and Legal-Dave was crouched down behind his desk in a duck-and-cover position. He looked at Phil as if he were the second coming. "Agent Coulson. Thank God. Help?"

"What's going on?" Phil set the wastepaper basket down on Dave's desk before extending a hand down to the younger man.

"She spent fifteen minutes yelling." Dave took Phil's hand and stood up from the floor. "Half of it was in Russian, the other half was a curse on both the houses of Congress and Col. Fury's extended family. And then it sounded like she was slamming about half the US Code around…" Dave tugged his shirt-tail out of his pants, pulled his glasses off, and wiped them on the shirt.

"The US Code?" Phil put Dave's account together with the activity logs and concluded that the meeting with Fury had been the yellow flag that a thunderhead was building.

Dave put his glasses back on. "She's got hardbacks in there. And I think she may have been trying to use them to break the windows."

"The windows are bulletproof." Phil said, calmly, leaning against Dave's desk.

"Are they wills-and-probate proof? Because she's got about two thirds of the tax code in there."

"Ah." Phil nodded. "I see." He nodded at the wastepaper basket. "Will you hold that for me for a second?" Dave picked it up. "Thanks." Phil pulled his ID off his suit jacket, waved it over the keycard lock and took the wastepaper basket from Dave before opening the door into Caroline's office.

The space was surprisingly neat for the amount of noise Dave had reported. The desk was also suspiciously clear, especially since the workload of managing the Avengers' legal needs had been growing exponentially since May. The addition of the fallout of Rogers' conflict with the City's graffiti code had created back-to-back six- and seven-day work weeks. He began to suspect that the outburst had been more out of workplace fatigue than particular animosity toward the military.

"Ms. Lakehurst." Phil set his wastepaper basket down, taking in the law books on her shelves. A third of them were upside down, and a quarter were in stacks on their side. Caroline was at her computer, typing with an acrimony that Phil usually associated with Tony talking about Windows.

Caroline didn't look up. "I'm just finishing the status reports on the property claims, Agent Coulson. I'll be out of what remains of your hair shortly."

"I'm really not in the mood, Ms. Lakehurst."

"I'm sure Agent Barton could help you with that, Agent Coulson." Caroline said, not looking up.

"Not in the office. Are you planning on paying attention?"

"I _am_ paying attention, Agent Coulson."

Phil sat down in Caroline's guest chair. "And what are you working on just now?"

"Requesting Dr. Banner's NDA with the US Army under the Freedom of Information Act. Once it processes, the next sucker you con into taking over this three ring circus should be able to pick it up without dropping too many million dollars in punitive damages."

Phil nodded. "Glad to hear it. I got your note." He tipped the shreds out on her desk.

"Did I not fill in form 35-P correctly? Does it call for black ink, not blue?" Caroline continued typing.

Phil could see the screen reflected in the window behind her: she had just about completed the FOIA form, and was ready to hit 'send.' He reached out and pulled the power cable out of the back of her CPU.

She looked up and raised an inelegant, unpenciled eyebrow at him. "Was that really necessary?"

"Saving you time. You're not cleared for Dr. Banner's NDA."

"How charming. You could have said; I'm fully capable of multi-tasking."

"Good. Do so over the next week out of the office." Clint's reply text of 'At Lgl-Dave's desk,' popped up on Phil's mobile: he glanced at it before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat.

"You could just save _yourself_ the time." Caroline said. "It's no trouble to reprint the resignation. I carboned you a copy via e-mail.

"Pass." Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and her lower lip began to slip out in a sulk worthy of Phil's three year old niece. "You need to cool off. Dave was crouched on the floor behind his desk. I'm surprised your tantrum didn't trigger the seismic sensors. Those books belong to SHIELD. Treating them as projectiles is hurtful, and a clear indicator that your conflict management skills need some work."

"Great, just what I need: more classwork."

"Usually I boil it down to one sentence. If you need to think about whether your approach is a good idea, it's not." He nodded at the pile of shredded paper. "I don't need the hassle of finding someone else for your job. Ms. Burr doesn't need the hassle of finding another lawyer for the department. You don't need the hassle of explaining why you left a paramilitary government when you threw an unprofessional snit-fit about the military industrial complex."

"Just the military part. I'm perfectly content with the role of the industrial complex in a global economy."

"Case in point." He leaned forward. "Your behavior was unprofessional. That's unacceptable in any office and a hazard to safety in this office. You're on administrative leave for a week: go home and get your temper back under control before I have to fill in OSHA paperwork." Phil stood up, opened Caroline's door, and waved Clint in. "See you in a week. Stay in the country. Agent Barton will give you a ride."

"I know the way to the train." Caroline answered. She picked her tablet up from its charger, tucked it into her tote-brief, stood up, and walked through the door. She paused by Clint, looked closely at him and said, "Your roots are showing, Agent Barton. Probably should stay with the blond, it'll work better with your coloring."

Clint snorted as she walked down the hall to the elevators. He looked at Phil. "Boss?"

Phil shook his head. "Tail her."

"Sir."

"And she's right about the dye."

Clint smiled. "I'll pick up a box on the way home."

"See you there."

 

**Thursday Morning, Brighton Beach, Brooklyn NY**

 

Caroline came back into her apartment, re-set the alarm, set the bag of bagels on her kitchen table and looked at the blind spot mirror she'd put up on her back porch.

"What the hell?" Steve's blond hair contrasted sharply against the brick and concrete, and he appeared to be trying to sneak. She hit the alarm again, drew her gun, and opened the back door.

"Apple pie, hot dogs, bald eagles or Fort McHenry?"

Steve stopped trying to 'sneak,' looked up and met her eyes before answering. "This band vauntingly swears to wash out pollution."

"Good 'nuff. I'll warm up the rhythm section. Coffee?"

"Sure."

"You've got the key." Caroline closed the window.  She turned around: Natasha was in the front hall. "Hey. Is this our chinchilla?"

"Это не мой зоопарк," Natasha answered.

"Glad to hear it's not our zoo. Hell." She shoved the window back open. "Steve, the bottom step, center plank is cut through, don't—" There was a thud as his foot went through the step and she bit her lip "—step on it."

"Sorry!"

"Don't worry about it." She unlocked the door for him, and he closed and locked it behind him, re-setting the alarm. "Steve, mugs above the sink."

Steve set his backpack down on the floor and reached up to the cabinet above the sink. He nodded at the mirror. "I like the blind spot mirror."

"Baby aisle at Target, $5.  Handy for driving, too." Caroline poured three mugs and put the cream on the table. "What brings you out to the boroughs this morning?" She passed the over-sized Michigan Wolverines mug to Steve. 

Natasha shook her head and took the 'Danger: Ninjas, Pirates, Lasers & Stuff' mug. "He's got paperwork." She nodded at Steve.

"Well, that's great. Principal Coulson suspended me from school, remember?" She sat down and pulled her bagel out of the bag. "I've got a hot date with Simo Häyhä, and I've stood him up for three weeks running now. My committee's getting twitchy."

Steve set the mug down and sat carefully. "Got a letter from Mariner."

"Ah. Pass it over." Caroline set her bagel down and held a hand out imperiously.

Steve reached into his backpack, pulled the envelope out and handed it over the table. "I read it. I can't make head or tails of it."

"As demonstrated Tuesday, my invasion planning still needs work." Caroline answered, pulling the letter out and reading. "Ah. Interesting."

"Oh?" Natasha asked.

"Apparently Steve got married in London in 1943."

" Я тебе подразвлаю." Natasha said to Steve.

Steve looked at Caroline. She translated. " _Mazel tov_." She pointed at a paragraph. "Mariner's claiming that they bought the manuscript from your widow."

"That's what confused me." Steve said.

"I can see how it would. Right, you never married?"

"Not during the war."

"Good enough. I'll loose the hounds of archival research when I get back." She folded up the letter, put it back in the envelope and handed it to him.

Steve blinked. "That's it?"

"Hurry up and wait, just like any other war, Steve. This is us shipping concrete and steel to San Cristóbal." She picked the bagel back up and took a bite out of it.

"Sorry?"

"Cuban Missile Crisis." Natasha said. "October, 1962."

"I'll forward the transcriptions from the White House tapes and Robert Kennedy's account of it." Caroline said, standing up. "Anything else?"

"Eager to get rid of us?" Steve asked.

"Suspended, remember?"

"Not really," Natasha said. "Administrative leave works kind of differently for us than for the rest of SHIELD. You don't have a go bag at the Tower."

"Do I need to?" Caroline asked, refilling her coffee.

"Probably." Natasha answered.

"I'll hit Target tomorrow." Caroline said. "Y'all finished double checking that I haven't turned?"

Steve had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Hey," Caroline refilled Steve's mug, and sat down. "Relax. No one ever said Nick Fury or Phil Coulson were stupid. If I were them, I'd be checking up on me, too."

"So, hunting for go bags?" Natasha asked.

Caroline took another bite out of her bagel and looked at her watch: 8 AM. She swallowed. "You guys got plans for the morning?"

"Now that we know we don't have to haul you off to medical to be deprogrammed, no." Natasha answered. "We can hang out, or wander. Steve knows the neighborhood, but doesn't speak Russian."

"Although I gotta say it looks about the same. Just the change in the lettering. It was all Hebrew and Yiddish in my day." Steve glanced down the hall. "And nothing's changed much in architecture. Bathroom and closet on the right, bedroom on the left, front room, back door out of kitchen, rickety stairs."

"If I'd put up cans and string, I'd have just tripped myself. I always miss the bottom stair, anyway."  Caroline replied.  Steve looked puzzled, and she explained. "Poor man's motion sensor."

"Your subject brushes aside one of the cans, and the others move, making noise." Natasha continued. "One of the cans is near or in your bedroom, you hear them coming." She looked at Caroline, "where'd you learn that?"

"It's in the samizdat literature. Tips for avoiding the GRU." Caroline passed the bagel bag around. "Help yourselves. I'll be in the living room, we can head out at two."  She went down the hall, banged on the closet door where the leather jacket hung and said "Bob, keep your nose out of this."

Bob faded back through the hall closet door. "You're no fun."

"Shouldn't have blackmailed me, then." She sat down at the desk in the living room and opened the laptop.

Steve looked at Natasha. "Did that make sense to you?"

"Not really."

"Are we parked legally?"

"Ludmilla Sergeiovna said we could use her driveway before I parked there."

"Which one was she?"

"Older lady with the dogs. Which one's Vodka?" She called down the hall.

"The Cardiganshire."  Caroline called back.

"Huh?"

"The one with the tail. The Pembrokeshire is Piva. No tail."

"Ah." 

"I'm Starking out, now, guys. I'll see you at two. Set the alarm if you leave."  Caroline put headphones on, set an alarm to move and stretch, and cued up the soundtrack to the Crow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't really thank [Yin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again) enough for patiently working through ~~three~~ ~~four~~ six drafts of the end bit on Tuesday. This chapter was a royal pill.


	5. Auditory Nirvana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I know I'm Jossing myself with this and chapter 1 of Xmas tree: I'll consider sorting it out later. In the mean time, have some crack borne of my proctoring midterms and finals!

 

 

  **Thursday Afternoon, Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, NY**  


 

Natasha and Steve took Caroline's go-bag back to the Tower, dropping Caroline at her apartment.  Caroline was unlocking her building door when her mobile rang.  She hit the alarm code, dropped  the 'regular' run of weekly shopping, and locked the door behind her before grabbing the phone.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Caroline?"

 

"Yes."

 

"It's Dorothy Musselthwaite from ESU Farmingdale."

 

"Mrs. Musselthwaite, of course."  Mrs. Musselthwaite was the administrative manager of the history department: Caroline went out of her way to make sure she kept on her good side. "What can I do for you today?"

 

"You know Tiffany Coleman?"

 

Caroline thought for a moment, then placed the name. "Of course.  Sitting her comps in the spring, General Marshall and the Marshall plan, WWI, Versailles and post WWII reconstruction."

 

"She tripped on her doorstep this morning. She's in the hospital, concussion and compound fracture of her wrist."

 

"And?"

 

"She's teaching 1608."

 

"Oh, lord." 1608 was the general history of the first half of 20th century. "How many?"

 

"520."

 

"And, of course, since it's the last of the intro classes it's not had its final yet."

 

"It's scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10. Tiffany's surgery starts at eight."

 

"Oh, Lord."

 

"I know you work full time, but is there any chance whatsoever you can proctor? The Drs. Harris have already left for France, Miguel Abbas left on Monday, Dr. Nils is presenting at the Swedish Association in Minneapolis tomorrow, and..."

 

"And everyone else has already flown like the wind for the nearest train, plane or automobile to get the heck out of Dodge."  Caroline finished.  "I'll have to check with my boss, but I'm pretty sure I can help you out here. Which hospital? Have you got the exams already?"

 

"Kingston, and yes."  Dorothy sounded relieved.  "Should I call back?"

 

"Go ahead and e-mail me the exam: I'll be able to confirm by this afternoon."

 

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you...."

 

Caroline smiled. "No worries. I'll ring you back."

 

"I'll wait for your call."  Dorothy hung up, and Caroline turned to set the alarm behind her. 

 

She smiled: her mood was immeasurably improved by the prospect of a day's entertainment.  She pushed the button for 'Office,' and asked for HR.

 

 

~*~*~

 

"Phil Coulson."

 

"Mr. Coulson, it's Caroline Lakehurst. _O tempora, o mores_ , oh, the humanity."

 

Phil smiled. "All we want to do is eat your brains." He replied. "You're off for the week, remember?"

 

"Yes, sir, I do: however, I owe you an apology, my shrink tells me that making an offer of recompense is appropriate, and HR tells me that I can leave the city, so long as I give my supervisor appropriate warning."

 

"And you've spoken to Robbie already?"

 

"I have."

 

"Enjoy your trip, then."

 

"It's the suburbs: 'enjoy' is not necessarily the right verb. The events once there should be positively delightful, however, and I thought I'd make a start on the recompense by offering to introduce you, Steve, Natasha and Clint to the sweetest sound on earth."

 

"Oh? What's that?"

 

"Are you busy tomorrow morning?"

 

*~*~*

 

The multi-colored exams had taken some explaining.

 

"Seriously?" Clint had asked, as Bruce, Tony and Caroline had an assembly line of collating going in Bruce's living room. "They go to these lengths?"

 

"I know, you'd think it'd be easier to just study." Bruce answered. "Some of the frats at Culver had files of exams going back near 100 years.  Never mind if it was the 21st century, you didn't get rid of the physics exam that pre-dated Einstein."

 

"And the bigger the school, the bigger the problem," Caroline added. "At Michigan, I saw one crew deliberately picking seats for lines of sight." She looked up from her counting. "There's a reason I asked you, you know. Aside from the 'I was really rude' apology."

 

Clint waved it off. "I'm just kind of curious about this 'sweetest sound' thing. I thought I'd heard it. Just last night, even."

 

"TMI," Steve said.

 

"Pot," Phil replied. "Caroline, green number 20?" 

 

Caroline picked up her copy and looked at it. "Mmm?" She asked.

 

"Decimalization is referring to…?"

 

"The UK, and false. They didn't convert to 100 pence to the pound from 240 until 1971."

 

"Got it." Phil scribbled on his copy.

 

"And to answer your question," Tony started…

 

Caroline cut him off "Hey. No fair harshing the moment, Stark."

 

"I'm just kind of sorry I'm going to miss it."  Tony sighed. 

 

"You're a little too high profile for this, Tony." Phil said. "As it is, there's an identification factor." 

 

"Did you decide to  go with cover IDs or real?" Tony asked.

 

"Cover for Clint and Natasha, regular for Steve, Caroline and me. Ms. Rushman's cousin Natasha will be making an appearance, as will Clint's alter-ego Mr. Burton. I'm bringing recruitment paperwork."

 

"Should make your quota for next year, then." Natasha said.  "Caroline, Eisenstein is asking about the film, Petrograd about the Aurora, right?"

 

"Right."

 

"Good. I'd hate to have to strangle your advisor."

 

"Dunno, Dr. Thompson might actually enjoy it."

 

 

**Friday, ESU Farmingdale, Farmingdale, NY**

 

 

"How many treaties of Versailles, again?"  Ruben Kluchek asked. He flipped through the notes in his left-handed, spiral-bound notebook. 

 

"Two - 1919, and then 1940." John Nguyen answered.  "I can't remember the ship."

 

"Which one? World War I or Russian Revolution?" Kelli Huffman chewed on the end of her braid: this week, it was bright blue. It had started the semester a conventional brown. John thought it suited her - but suspected that if his sister Anna tried it their mother would kill them.

 

"Revolution"

 

"Potemkin." Ruben answered. He'd know: his family had gotten out of the Eastern Bloc just before the Berlin Wall went up.

 

"No, not the 1905 and the Eisenstein film. The one in St. Petersburg in 1917?"

 

Ruben thought for a moment, then said, "Aurora." 

 

"Thanks."  John Nguyen closed his notes.  "Time?"

 

Kelli looked at her watch. "10:15."

 

"Should we?"

 

"Yeah, I guess."

 

The group closed up their bags and walked toward the large auditorium in the main classroom building.  A table was set up in front of the doors to the classroom, with the customary student 'gear watchers.'  Clubs used it as a fund-raising opportunity, and the physical process of getting in to and out of seats in the lecture halls became much less exciting.  With students using the service to safely store their stuff, the likelihood that people would be concussed while their classmates navigated the narrow lecture hall seats dropped dramatically. 

 

John pulled out a pencil case, set his mobile to silent, locked it, and tossed it into his backpack before handing the backpack and   a dollar to the top-hat wearing Snarks (the on-campus branch of Future Haberdashers of America) accepted a check-ticket in exchange.  

 

A line was forming at the door to the lecture hall where students were checking in.

 

Kelli was in line ahead of John, and he heard her murmur "Oh, my," as they got in sight of the tall, blond man wearing jeans and a long-sleeved purple T-shirt handing out Ziplocks (weird) and Scantrons (normal).

 

Kelli 'fumbled' her pencil bag and the proctor caught it.  He handed it back to her along with a Scantron and Ziplock.

 

"Thanks," Kelli replied, looking up through her eyelashes, in full-press flirt mode.

 

"You're welcome." The proctor replied. "Mobile in the Ziplock, please." He appeared to dismiss her from his attention and handed John a Ziplock and Scantron, repeating the phrase to alternate students.

 

John rolled his eyes at Kelli as they went down the hall. "Really? That's the best you could do?"

 

"Give me a break, I'm stressed and off my A-game. Hi," she said to the next proctor, a red-headed woman in black jeans and a camel-colored sweater.

 

"Good morning. To the left, please. Thanks." The proctor directed Kelli to the middle bank of lecture seats. "And if you'd go to the right, please?"

 

John's eyes narrowed: he knew he was just a freshman, but none of the rest of his finals had had this level of efforts to prevent cheating.  He walked where he was directed and looked around for Ms. Coleman to ask her what was going on.  

 

It was at that point that John realized that he didn't recognize anyone other than his classmates.  There was a core of grad students who helped each other proctor exams. His English and calculus exams had been proctored by the same philosophy grad student (Nietzsche and the Other) and the synchronized swimming coach.  This beat midterms, where an animal behaviorist who had actually used the clicker on her lanyard to reinforce students following directions had freaked him out so badly he'd nearly dropped anthropology.

 

The only one in this group of proctors who was the usual grad school age was a different tall, blond guy whose haircut and demeanor just screamed 'just separated from the military.'

 

And Ms. Coleman was nowhere to be seen.

 

John was sufficiently alarmed to raise his hand: an older man with thinning hair approached, and asked "What's up?"

 

"I am in the right room for the final for history 1608, aren't I?"

 

The proctor nodded. "You are. There'll be an explanation in about…" The overhead projector clicked on, with instructions that read 'History 1608 Final: Scantron directions.' "ten minutes."

 

John looked at the instructions, and then at his Scantron. "Okay. Thanks."

 

"You're welcome. Good luck."

 

At 10:38, a Caucasian woman stepped up to the podium, turned on the microphone, and addressed the group.

 

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, you might have noticed that I am not Ms. Coleman.  My name is Caroline Lakehurst and like Ms. Coleman, I'm a PhD candidate here at ESU Farmingdale. Ms. Coleman has had a medical emergency: she's fine, but is in the hospital and the department asked me to proctor in her place today.  Assisting me are Mr. Burton," Kelli's rescuer waved, "Mr. Coulson," the man who had answered John's question waved, "Mr. Rogers" recently-separated-from-the-military sketched a half-salute, "and Ms. Rushman." The redhead raised her hand.

 

Ms. Lakehurst smiled, and continued,"You might have noticed that we've taken a few minor precautions to prevent cheating."  The students laughed, and she clicked the mouse at the podium computer. A histogram appeared, showing cheating per 500 students enrolled on the vertical, and course titles on the horizontal. "This is because History 1608 holds the ESU Farmindgale record for incidents of cheating in exams. Part of this is our fault: the final includes the history department's core exam.  However, last spring, 38% of the Scantrons were identical, and there was an astonishingly high level of data flow through the room's wi-fi for a period in which no devices should have been active. As a consequence, we've taken some new steps.

 

"As you know, University policy requires that students not have electronic devices or mobile phones with them in their exams. However, we also know that students have lives and that some of you have to be reachable in case of an emergency.  An emergency is defined as flood, fire, blood, broken bone or children. Children on their own qualify as an emergency, but if you're in labor, please check in with Mr. Coulson," he half-raised his hand, "and for crying out loud, go to the hospital!"  The students laughed, starting to relax. "The rest of you, take the Sharpie that's on your row, print your full name on the Ziplock as shown," she clicked again and a picture of a Ziplock with 'JANE LOUISE DOE' printed on it, "set your mobile to vibrate, place your phone and any other electronics you may have in the Ziplock, again, as shown."  Another click, and a second picture appeared on the slide, with a mobile phone and StarkPlayer inside the Ziplock. "And pass your bag to the aisle. We'll be circulating to collect them."  There was a general rustling of people reaching pens, writing on the bags, passing mobiles around.  Rogers went down the aisle near John with a milk crate: Ms. Rushman took the other aisle.  Burton and Coulson stood at the front of the room, leaning against the table, hands in their pockets, observing the students. 

 

"Have all mobiles been turned in?" Ms. Lakehurst asked.  There was a general, grumbly murmur of 'yes,' and she went on, "good, because anyone found with any variety of electronic device from this point forward will have their Scantron taken and will automatically fail the exam." Her smile turned tiger-like. "Now, are you certain that all electronics, including mobiles, have been turned in?"

 

John started counting in his head.

 

He got to three before someone raised his hand and said "I've got it off and in my pocket, is that enough?"

 

"Sure isn't!" Ms. Lakehurst sounded absurdly cheerful.

 

There was more rustling, and a few more bags came to the aisle.

 

"Mr. Burton, who's our first winner?" Ms. Lakehurst asked.

 

"The young lady in the fifth row, third from our right, Hello Kitty T-shirt," he answered. "And the gentleman in the bow tie right behind her."

 

"Excellent. Ms. Rushman?"

 

Rushman went over and tapped the woman Burton had identified on the shoulder. "Step into the aisle, please." 

 

"But I…" the student protested.

 

"Really, don't."  Burton said. "Right jacket pocket, Tash."

 

"Thanks, Clint."  Rushman reached into the pocket Burton indicated, pulled out a StarkPlayer, and put it in a Ziplock. "Your name?"

 

The student muttered something in reply. Rushman wrote the name on the Ziplock and put it into a tote bag. Bow Tie handed his bag over before she got to him.

 

"Anyone else?" Ms. Lakehurst asked. "Final offer."

 

About fifteen more bags were passed in to the aisles and collected.

 

"Thank you. " A new picture appeared, of a baseball hat with a cheat sheet taped under its bill. "hats with brims are to be reversed or removed.  Has everyone who needs a translating dictionary taken a seat in the first three rows?" A kid John played intramural soccer with raised his hand. "Sir." Ms. Lakehurst called on him. 

 

"What about normal dictionaries?"

 

"They'll be checked when you get your exam. Should you need a dictionary and not have brought one, raise your hand, one of us will assist you. The same goes for pencils and erasers: we've got plenty, just ask if you need one.  Finally, if you have any substantive questions whatsoever  during the test, raise your hand, we'll come to you."  

 

Caroline looked at Steve and Clint, conducting a speed-version of  Kim's Game, sorting the phones alphabetically. "We good?"

 

"Three more rows," Steve answered distractedly.

 

"Great." Caroline handed Phil and Natasha their stacks of exams. "Ladies and gentlemen, once you have your exam, you may begin." She looked at Phil and Natasha and nodded. "Let's get this show on the road."

 

Steve put the clear lid on the box, and he and Clint took up their piles of exams to distribute to students.  Several of them looked at Steve with slightly narrowed eyes. He replied with his 'slightly awkward with strange babies' smile, and continued distributing.

 

One kid that he'd seen Phil talking to looked at Steve as he took his exam and murmured, "thanks, Cap."

 

"You're welcome," Steve answered automatically, and made a note of the student's seat number.

 

Caroline finished her stack and returned to the front of the room. She switched the overhead projector over to the clock (current time and time remaining), and then nodded to Natasha. "Hit it."

 

Natasha activated the signal blocker Tony had loaned them.  The mobiles and devices in the box at the front of the room were protected and would still receive signals: anyone with a (non-SHIELD issued) mobile on their person would find that they were unable to get any bars whatsoever. This meant that only students who had been 'smart' enough to pre-load their answers onto their phones would be able to get any information off them, and with Clint watching, the chances of not being spotted were between slim and none.

 

"How many?" Phil asked quietly when Steve joined them at the front. Natasha and Clint were walking the aisles: once hands started being raised, all of them would be in motion.

 

"Two. Southeast Asian kid in row 10 left - the one you were talking to earlier?"

 

"I thought we'd be snagging him. Who else?"

 

"African-American girl with the braids in row 8 middle-left."

 

Phil nodded, and added the student to his list.  Caroline's Scantron instructions required seat numbers. If they didn't snag the students who had spotted them after they turned in the exam, they could track them down that afternoon. He surveyed the students filling in bubbles, and said to Caroline. "Still not hearing this auditory nirvana."

 

"Wait for it," Caroline answered. "It usually hits just as they turn the first page."

 

Two minutes later, there was a rustling of pages turning.

 

Shortly after that, about 50 or so students sighed, simultaneously sounding disappointed and resigned.

 

Caroline was right: it was, definitely, the sweetest sound Phil had ever heard in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to try some Edwardian parlour games yourself? Check out [Kim's Game](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kim's_Game) over at Wikipedia: just don't cite it in your term papers, or you'll be charged the 5 point wiki fee.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> This story is based on characters created by Stan Lee et al, and that are currently in circulation in print and film through Marvel Comics, among others. No money is being made by the author from this story, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All rights remain the owners'.


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